The Morales Family, and Skyrim
by AuthorOfTheDark
Summary: A Breton and an Altmer, a Civil War and Dragons. Suddenly Cyrodil was a whole lot more homey. OCs abound, slow moving story. Once more in production.
1. The Empire's Methods of Justice

AN: Yes, I know, _another_ project with so many unfinished ones; believe me, I bloody well know. This story is being written by a friend of mine and myself; he will update it as much as possible.

His notes are thus. The Morales Family is a Breton Noble Family that he's been RPing since Arena, yeah, that Arena. They're a high noble family from Sentinel and over time moved between it and Daggerfall; a Morales has been at the forefront of Empirical happenings for a while, to name his few; the Eternal Champion, the Apprentice, the_ Nerevarine, _the Hero of Kvatch, etc. Yeah, he's really been playing this that long. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy his writing style and his story.

Erosceih is an Altmer Magician (a custom class based on the Mage specializing in every branch of Magic) that my friend did a runthrough for in Oblivion just to play the Mages Guild's quest on lolhardmode at lvl 30. He's over three hundred years old and has no love for the Thalmor, considering them to be little more than traitors to the Empire. He was Arch-Mage of the Cyrodilic Mage's Guild and the King of Worms after the death of Mannimarco; he's known the Morales family since Anna's grandmother, the Heroine of Cyrodil, was studying at the University and is an old family friend.

- Rob.

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It occurred to him as he was thrown into the cart along with his charge and several so called Stormcloaks what a sad state that the Empire was in. The ridiculously tall Altmer sat directly across from a man with a gag in his mouth, a horse thief to his left; charge diagonally from him. The gagged man's eyes held nothing but the utmost contempt, if not utter hatred for the High Elf. "Erosceih, where are they taking us?" His charge spoke up, a short young woman with dark hair and green eyes; she had the tell-tale height of the Bretons; the last of the House of Morales; the house no one remembered, despite that one of its matrons had literally saved the world from a Daedra Prince; the Heroine of Cyrodil; what a forgotten name. "I don't know." The elf answered honestly as the man next to Erosceih started talking. "Good to see you two finally awake, trying to cross the border, eh, walked right into that Imperial ambush; same as us and that thief over there." The blond Nord pointed at a scrawny looking man with brunette hair.

"Skyrim was fine until you came along! Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I'd have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell!" The thief looked at the Breton, his eyes finally focusing. "You there! You and me; we shouldn't be here! It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants!"

"I'd wager it doesn't matter much now." Erosceih said bluntly as the Nord nodded in agreement as he sighed somewhat; "Indeed, we're all brothers and sisters in binds now, _thief_."

"Shut up back there!" The Imperial guiding the wagon yelled; interrupting their last conversation; Erosceih wasn't so stupid he couldn't figure out where they were headed, there was just no reason to panic a seventeen winter-old. The Thief snorted darkly before he spoke again. "What's wrong with him, then?" He motioned to the gagged man as the Altmer scoffed; the blond Nord beat him to it though. "Watch your tongue! You speak to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

"Ulfric Stormcloak? The leader of the Rebellion! If they captured you...Oh Gods, where are they taking us?" The thief lamented darkly.

"I don't know, but Sovngarde awaits." The blond Nord responded with a heavy sigh.

"No! This can't be happening, this isn't happening!" The thief was panicking now.

"Hey, what village are you from, horse-thief?" The blond Nord asked. "And you two?" He directed towards the odd duo.

"Why do you care?" the dark-haired Nord grumbled as he fidgeted.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." The blond responded.

"Sentinel." Anna managed to choke out as the thief chewed at his lip. Erosceih sat in silence for a few seconds before the thief finally spoke.

"Rorikstead, I'm... I'm from Rorikstead."

"Summerset Isle, a long long time since it was called that though..." Erosceih added as the heavy wagons were led through the gates of a village. "We're here..." He pointed out the obvious as the Imperials slowed down.

"General Tullius, sir!" an Imperial soldier called from atop the gates of the village. "The headsman is waiting!"

Anna just dropped her head into her tied hands as best she could; the Thief started praying urgently as the rest were silent for an idle moment. "Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh...! Divines please help me!"

The main gates rattled by slowly, swinging closed as a heavy bar was brought across them when the last wagon passed, symbolic more than anything, no one was escaping this time. The General and his entourage vered off to the side joining up with an Elf that was busy looking down his nose. "Wondrous...Thalmor." The sarcasm in Erosceih's voice was heavy at best.

"Look at him!" the blonde Nord spat. "General Tullius, the military governor! And it looks like the Thalmor are with him! Damn elves... I bet they had something to do with this!"

The Nord's voice grew softer all of a sudden. "This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in...?" The Nord snorted. "Funny. When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe..."

Near one of the houses a boy was ushered into the home by a parent, all the while protesting how he wanted to watch the soldiers. A few sparse seconds later the wagons shuddered to a halt. An Imperial officer stepped forward yelling orders; dutifully followed by Legionaries. "Get the prisoners down from the wagons!" Chains rattled as they did as they were told, some thirty odd Stormcloaks, a horse-thief and two cases of mistaken identity. "Step forward as we call your title from the lists!"

"Empire and their love of damned lists." The blond Nord said simply.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." Another Imperial; a Nord at that; listed off as Ulfric stepped forward; eyes burning with defiance the entire time. "It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric." The blond Nord said as he went forward by him.

"Ralof of Riverwood." The Imperial continued his listing, the blond Nord stepped forward pausing for a moment staring hard at the Imperial Nord as though he knew him before he shook his head and continued on.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No!" the horse-thief, Lokir, exclaimed. "I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!"

Lokir started running the way the convoy had come from. "Halt!" the Imperial woman yelled.

"You're not gonna kill me!" Lokir called back. With a look of almost annoyance the officer ordered quickly "Archers!", several legionaries pulled bows, notching arrows and readying to fire at the fleeing thief. The officer pointed and dropped her arm simply, no need to verbally order; if nothing discipline had always been part of the Legion. One arrow struck Lokir in the upper shoulder, another in his lower back before a third lanced through his leg; the thief was dead before he hit the ground. "Anyone else feel like running?" The officer challenged darkly, no one moved.

The Imperial-Nord looked down at his list once, twice and then looked up at the last of the prisoners. "Who...are you?"

Erosceih took point with his answer. "Archmage Erosceih of the Summerset Isles of the Arcane University of Cyrodil." He didn't sneer down his nose like the Thalmor did, instead the High Elf just seemed, resigned; his title meant nothing now; the bygone of a lost era, the last symbol of the Old Regime.

"Anna Morales of Sentinel." The shorter Breton followed the elf's example, keeping her eyes on the ground the entire time.

The Nord frowned and looked to the Imperial woman. "Captain, what should we do? They're not on the list."

The woman took one look at the two and sneered. "Forget the list," she said. "They go to the block."

"By your orders, Captain." The Nord man closed the book his list was in, dropping the pen between the pages. "I'm sorry," He apologized. "We'll make sure your remains are returned to High Rock and the Summerset Isles." The Nord walked towards the chopping block and they followed with a sigh of resignation, taking up a position close to, but somewhat off to the side of the Jarl; Ulfric; who General Tullius was speaking to.

"Ulfric Stormcloak,Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the voice to murder his King and usurp his throne." Ulfric's eyes narrowed and he grunted something, but it was illegible because of the cloth tied around his mouth. "You started this war! Plunged Skyrim into chaos! And now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!"

A low rumbling filled the air after that, menacing and far off, filled with unbridled rage and terror.

"What was that?" an Imperial soldier asked.

General Tullius waved it off. "It's nothing. Carry on."

"Yes, General Tullius!" the Imperial Captain said, saluting. She turned to a priest standing near the headsman. "Give them their last rites."

The priest held her hands out. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you—!"

"Oh, for the love of Talos!" one of the Stormcloaks groaned as he stepped up to the block. "Just shut-up, and let's get this over with!"

The Imperial Captain glared at him. "As you wish."

"C'mon!" The man goaded. "I haven't got all morning!"

The Imperial pushed him forward so he was on his knees, then put her foot in-between his shoulder blades and pushed his neck onto the block.

"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials!" the Nord continued. "Can you say the same?"

The Headsman's axe came down with a brutal lack of flourish, separating the Nord's head from his shoulders in one single swing, his head rolled into a basket at the other side of the block, there was an outrage from one of the Stormcloaks, decrying the Imperials; this was gladly reiterated by a few near by Imperials; crying death to the Stormcloaks, amazing how bold people were when soldiers were unarmed.

The officer kicked the headless body to the side before she turned back to the ensemble. "Next, the Breton!" Anna shivered, 'feeling singled out' was an understatement. Another monolithic roar, closer this time sounded over the mountains and she shuddered; shaken to the core. No one else seemed to notice.

As the officer shoved her down into the block she spoke again. "I said, next prisoner!" Resigned, Anna stepped forward slowly; pushed down to the block; which she grimly noted was still soaked with the blood of the Stormcloak. As the headman's axe was hefted a great...beast, for lack of better word filled the sky, Anna's eyes as well as many others widened with surprise. "What in Oblivion is that!" The General cried as the beast landed on the central tower of the fortress, crushing it under its immense weight. "Dragon!" One of the Stormcloaks yelled out.

In the next seconds, fire rained down from the skies, blasting stonework to pieces, boiling men alive. The fire was different though, from any sort of other fire. It only came after the dragon spoke. The next blast of fire threw Anna back and away from the chopping block, as well as sending several people reeling.

Erosceih caught the smaller magician, stumbling somewhat as she impacted into him. The Nord, Ralof was yelling in the confusion to the duo. "Come on! The Gods won't give us another chance!" Looking around quickly the trio darted into one of the yet unassailed towers, slamming the heavy doors behind them.

As Ralof and his King spoke the two magicians finally caught a breath. "A Dragon, an actual bloody dragon. I haven't seen one of those since your grandmother and Martin." Erosceih reminisced as Anna hugged herself. "Martin's Memorial in the Imperial City looks different from that thing; it was rough and...guttural." Their voices were seemingly parodies of one another, Erosceih's a strong, but mellow tune, associated to wisdom and knowing, while Anna's was youthful, soft and remarkably feminine.

They didn't talk for long before Ralof ushered them up the stairs of the battered building, where another Stormcloak was trying to move some rubble. The wall buckled suddenly as they approached, the three backstepped on instinct as the huge head of the Dragon came through and roared flame, the Stormcloak was...incinerated, the smell of burnt flesh and cloth filling the air was less than pleasant. Ralof looked out of the hole after the dragon had left, ushering them over. "You'll have to jump."

"Are you serious!"

"Jump!" He ordered as he shoved Erosceih across the gap, he landed with a roll on the wooden floor of a partially destroyed building; and with a surprisingly amount of grace considering his age. Anna followed him shortly after; landing with a jarring impact that shook what was left of the building, the little Breton wasn't that heavy, the ruin was just that bad off.

They quickly ran from the burning facade which collapsed behind them, running into the Imperial-Nord from earlier who was coaxing a boy to him, the lad ran to him just as the dragon landed, spewing fire where they had been but seconds before.

"Still alive, prisoners? Stick close to me if you want to stay that way." The soldier ordered; without much other choice the two magicians obeyed. The soldier exchanged a few quick words with another older man, who offered blessings to the legionary before he ordered them to follow after him.

They came swiftly on to a courtyard where a combination of archers and Imperial Battlemages were offering up some sort of resistance to speak of against the dragon as it passed over head, dodging and weaving between the assaults. General Tullius was easy enough to make out on his horse guiding the pitiful defense before the war-beast whinnied and reared upward. "Hadvar!" The General bellowed over the sounds of chaos to the legionary that had led the two magicians so far. "We're retreating, get the hell out of here!"

It was evident that Hadvar didn't like the idea of it but obeyed his orders none the less and started guiding the two towards the greater courtyard of Helgen, ironically where they had started off; towards the central keep easily the most fortified part of the town. Ralof and two of his companions came barreling out of nowhere. "Out of my way filthy traitor, we're leaving!" Hadvar bellowed viciously as Ralof retorted just as kindly. "We're escaping and this time you're not stopping us!"

"That's fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sonvngarde too!" The two split off, with Hadvar beckoning to the magicians who looked at one another sternly, there was no time for conversation, honestly; the dragon was in the distance sweeping back in for the attack; without much to it they darted after Hadvar, the Legion was in better shape to assist them anyway.

As Hadvar closed the heavy door behind them the three took a moment to catch their breath in short order. "Here, let me get those off you." He motioned to the bindings. " He cut the bindings off of Anna and then Eroceih. "There should be plenty of gear in here to choose from; see what you can find; I'll look over here for anything we can use."

"You're rather trusting for an Imperial." Eroceih finally said as he lifted what looked to be an older simple iron sword from a weapons bracket.

"I'm a Nord, not an Imperial. I joined the Imperial Legion because I believe in Empire still."

"Help me with this!" Eroceih turned to see Anna trying, and failing to struggle her way into one of the leather-breast plates the Imperials had left behind. The Archmage snapped his fingers, such was his ability with Alteration that the fabric twisted and wound itself onto the younger magician with ease.

"Viola." He said with a comical bow, trying to lighten the severity of the situation. "As it stands, I think we should get out of here."

"Agreed, we can go through the keep; there are supposed to be tunnels that lead away from here into the mountains; or so I heard." Hadvar said as he pushed on another heavy door that led deeper in.


	2. Escape from Execution

AN: Yes, we are still here. No, we don't feed trolls. Thanks to you all who think we're interesting, especially appreciative of you, random guest for your words of support.

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"I'm getting too old for this!" Erosceih yelled as he deflected the battleaxe of a rather enraged Stormcloak solider. They hadn't gotten very far into the keep before they'd run across the duo, off across the room the Nord and Anna were busy with the other of the two. "Give me a reprieve!" The Altmer cried as he back peddled before he called up on ancient magicka. "Courtesy of the Arcane University! Explode!" An eruptive gout of fire exploded from his hands along with several dozen fireballs, each conclusively slamming into the Nord woman's chest and arms, scorching her first before finally setting her on fire.

The two hundred year old Enemies Explode spell was a classic beyond classics in every sense of the word; and Erosceih noted; still just as brutally effective now as it was when he first studied it following the Heroine of Cyrodiil around. As the agonized screams of the woman died along with her the Archmage turned just in time to watch Hadvar gruesomely behead the other Stormcloak without any sort of flourish, straight to the point. "Where did you learn that?" The soldier remarked as they headed deeper in.

"Bretons are long lived, Altmer live longer." Erosceih said with a small hint of sadness as they went deeper into the keep, a horrendous sound, what sounded like the dragon's roar was instead the roof coming down on top of the building, crashing through the floors above it landed in a pile of rubble forward of them, the shaking causing them to lose their balance as a few loose stones continued their descent to the ground. "By Lorkhan I do believe that thing is trying to kill us." Erosceih remarked as Anna moved her tiny form against a partially buried door that was the only way forward at that point.

The small Breton took a step back after she pried the door open, Hadvar taking point sword at the ready; Erosceih followed, almost immediately a well timed fireball set a Stormcloak on fire as he flailed around in agony before he dropped, fire licking at him hungrily. In the short reprieve Hadvar had become deadlocked against the other Stormcloak's battleaxe, the two Nords pushing against one another in a nice if not shortlived stalemate before Anna came up from behind the Stormcloak and ran her sword out through his gut.

"I didn't think I was this bloodlust filled before today." She remarked blankly. "They said something about potions, we should probably look around." The mage quickly began rummaging through barrels; Hadvar and Erosceih doing the same in respective corners of the room. "Legionary armor still made with pouches on it?" Erosceih spared a glance to Hadvar who shook his head. "Luckily there's this then." The Altmer lifted a rucksack lightly before dumping a few bottles into it, mostly drink; as well as a few vegetables and other necessities they likely wouldn't have access to for a while.

On their way to the door the rucksack found itself filled with a sparse few crystal potion bottles as well; Erosceih took notice that they certainly didn't make them like they used to. "There's a torture chamber up ahead, Gods I wish we didn't need these."

"We wouldn't if we weren't busy beating people's faith out of them." Erosceih said simply as they came into an unsurprising scene of combat, flashes of lightning and the clanging of steel; in seconds they were into the fray, Anna outright charged on one of the Stormcloaks, barreling passed a large Nord in Imperial Armor whose mace had just missed the same Stormcloak's head; her sword coming across his stomach as she did so.

Her sword caught on the armor but forced the man back as Erosceih and Hadvar backed the other Stormcloak into a corner, the woman was visibly tired but refused to surrender the fight, that predatory gleam in her eye the Altmer silently admitted he had to respect; she charged forward with a battlecry worth the best of them her warhammer coming down on Hadvar's sword, the finely crafted steel blade held but the solider backed away anyways, his arm jarred from the impact. Erosceih shook his head sadly before he just snapped his fingers, a glowing portal opened behind the woman before fiery arms grabbed at her, dragging her into far more infernal lands than the fellowship of Sovngarde; the sheer look of terror in her eyes forced the archmage's gaze, while in the silence of the aftermath the others stared at him with a look of absolute horror. "Do I even want to know?" Hadvar dared to ask as the group numbly continued on, Anna adding her pilfer of one of the cages to another rucksack and the Torturer's Assistant in tow with them. "Mehrune's Dagon, my dealings with him were both short, and brutal." Erosceih said simply as they came into a large natural cavern; the narrow tunnels of cells behind them they were officially out of the fortress and under the mountains around it.

"You sacrificed her to...That's inhuman." The conversation abruptly ended as they came into a large formation filled with, quite literally filled with, Stormcloaks. Before any type of reasoning could be attempted arrows whizzed by the entourage and the fight was on. Anna and Hadvar charged in directly while the Torturer's Assistant leapt down to a lower level promptly smashing the face in of another Stormcloak with his mace. Erosceih himself released a gout of fire from his hands, the searing flames licking at a natural oil slick on the floor which erupted into an utter inferno, consuming two of the Stormcloak archers, a third was spared by backing up and swiftly made for his waraxe, in the mean while Anna and Hadvar has finished off their respective opponents and were rounding on the last of the Stormcloaks, a few seconds later the lopsided battle was over in surprising favor to the survivors.

"You all should go on a head. I'm going to go back and get the old man." The Torturer's Assistant said as he dropped his mace back through the thick leather loop at his belt. The trio nodded to him and parted away, Hadvar taking point again as Erosceih brought up the rear.

"Ero's done a lot of things that would make people shudder, he's not evil though." Anna off handedly revived the words from earlier, the two merely nodded in response though, having run themselves just about ragged. After a series of tunnels they came across a small cavern with a few large spiders in it that were quickly finished off before they forged ahead again. Eventually they came to a far larger cavern, and the trickle of a breeze rustled across their faces. "Shh, shh." Hadvar silenced them quickly as he dropped into a crouch. "A bear." He whispered simply; indeed not far off in a natural rounding there was a sleeping brown bear. "I'd rather not bother her, lets try and slip passed."

A few minutes later the three breathed a gloriously chilled fresh burst of mountain air before a draconian roar drove them to their knees behind a particularly large rock. A few minutes passed before the three half-stood again. "The village of Riverwood isn't far from here, my uncle Alvor is the blacksmith there, I'm sure he'd help you two out; we can split up if you want and I can meet you there or we can stick together."

"We've been together so far, haven't we?" Anna said plainly, Erosceih nodding in agreement. The three of them took a few more minutes to catch their breath before they climbed down from the mountain, a twisting path leading to the cobbled road which they were silently thankful to see. Eventually they came across three very ancient standing stones. "Guardian Stones." Hadvar said. "These are three of thirteen ancient stones that dot the landscape of Skyrim. They align with the heavens and...Honestly that's about all I remember."

"There are stones like this in Cyrodiil." Erosceih said as he approached one, examining it with a very well trained eye. "A friend of mine reported thirteen in Betony as well; leading to a total of thirty six I know of, Argonia I've never been too, Summerset Isle had none, Elsywr and Valenwood I'm clueless." The Archmage was in the end a scholar, and his lessons had not died out with his Universty.

"This is the Mage, here, Anna. You haven't chosen one yet, so honor Skyrim, I suppose. I selected mine long ago, of course I'm not an Apprentice anymore." He chuckled slightly before he ran his hand over the Mage's tone as well as Anna did, an ethereal light shining from it. "Alright, Riverwood it is."


End file.
